


Disengage

by AirgiodSLV



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-02
Updated: 2004-01-02
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: Advance, retreat, disengage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has helped me write this; [](https://msilverstar.livejournal.com/profile)[msilverstar](https://msilverstar.livejournal.com/), [](https://kaydeefalls.livejournal.com/profile)[kaydeefalls](https://kaydeefalls.livejournal.com/), [](https://impasto.livejournal.com/profile)[impasto](https://impasto.livejournal.com/), [](https://arabia764.livejournal.com/profile)[arabia764](https://arabia764.livejournal.com/), and [](https://mdbfan.livejournal.com/profile)[mdbfan](https://mdbfan.livejournal.com/). Your contributions were priceless.

_Disengage – to release, detach, or free oneself. (Macmillan Dictionary, 1973)_

_“well i wasn’t sure then but i’m sure as hell now_  
and i know i gotta leave this while i still know how”  
\- Skott Freedman 

 

 

Cut, parry, croise.

Metal glinted off the practice blades as Orlando’s body followed through on moves that it knew by heart and muscle memory. His world was narrowed to the flex of his opponent’s muscles, the glint of light as it fell across the flat of his Epee, the clang of blades meeting on the true edges, which betrayed the force of the blow by the tenor of the sound. He caught the glissade too close to the bell guard, but it sang-scraped smoothly down the length of the blade.

Forte, foible, tip.

They were moving into the new part of the routine now, and Orlando chanted the words to himself as his arms swung and stretched, carried the weight of the sword over and around his head for the moulinet, parried neatly and went straight into the envelopment. Through all four quadrants and off to the side, and he moved in to finish the drill.

Advance, avoid, bind.

This was all point work, excruciating in its precision and accuracy. The swords barely moved, tips glancing off each other; mastery in fractional increments. It was all about control, delicacy; using the lightest touch to achieve the desired result. Orlando hated point work. He much preferred the hack-and-slash method of the hobbits. Elven bladework was graceful: intricate and subtle.

Orlando had never been subtle.

“Nice,” his sparring partner complimented, and Orlando relaxed, flashing a quick smile and feeling the telltale twinge in his wrist as he reversed and lowered the Epee. Bob was still watching him, and Orlando waited patiently for a pronouncement. Bob’s eyes were always slightly narrowed, as if he were forever scrutinizing everyone and measuring them up next to some secret standard. He held Orlando’s gaze for another second and then nodded. “You’re done. Go on, get some lunch. Tomorrow we do it again.”

Orlando caught himself just before sighing in relief, but a second too late to prevent the visible slump of his shoulders as exhausted muscles relaxed. Bob barked out a laugh, and waved his blade carelessly in the direction of the door. “Go on then,” he repeated, and Orlando didn’t wait around for him to change his mind.

He sat – or more accurately, collapsed – onto the ground, slipping the Epee back into its case with the others and reaching for his gym bag. It wasn’t worth changing, even though the smell of sweat permeated the fabric of his shirt and his track pants stuck to the sides of his legs. Putting fresh clothes on at this point would only make him feel more disgusting.

He winced a little as he walked out the main doors and into the light; the full glare of the midday sun caught his eyes, unprepared after hours of illumination from overhead fluorescents. A brief fumble in the side pouch of his duffle bag turned up his sunglasses, and he flicked them open with one hand and slipped them on. The movement jerked his wrist, reminding him again that he was going to pay for this practice tomorrow, for yet another day of training to which his body hadn’t yet fully adjusted.

It was a beautiful day; chalk-charcoal of the clouds, black-on-white with every shade of gray in between. Painfully three-dimensional the way the sky was never supposed to be, and sometimes he found it difficult to believe that clouds were real. The sunglasses tinted them, blunted the edges. Made it easier to bear with the world shaded in one colour.

Pink, this time. Orlando had stopped wearing regular sunglasses sometime last year. The world looked different through tinted glass. Better. And besides, maybe there was something to the proverbial ‘rose-coloured glasses’ after all.

The sound of his name brought his attention to the open field beside the building, where he was occasionally summoned for extra archery practice or weapons work whenever the weather permitted and Bob was in a forgiving mood. Outdoor practice invariably led to sloppiness and distractions, and Orlando was being paid far too well to waste practice time.

Evidently the hobbits were being granted leniency today, or else their training wasn’t as strict as Orlando’s tended to be. All four of them were in one corner of the field with Kirk watching their choreography, wooden swords cracking heavily as they collided.

It was Dominic who had called out, beckoning enthusiastically for Orlando to join them. He was partnered with Elijah, who glanced over briefly before taking the opportunity to go for water. The sleeve of Elijah’s shirt stuck when he used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and Orlando smiled in grim camaraderie. It had been warm enough in the building, but the sun lent extra weight to the heat outside, beating down on anyone unfortunate enough to be in the open.

“Check this out, man,” Dominic called when Orlando reached the edge of the field, and Elijah raised his blade to guard as Dominic cued him and made the first cut.

They weren’t as precise as he was, but that was to be expected. They were still good; smooth and confident, and Orlando caught the secret smiles and swift glances as their eyes darted to meet and then away again, dancing and flirting as their blades did. Orlando’s stomach twisted slightly…undoubtedly reminding him that it was lunchtime and his body required sustenance.

Elijah parried and allowed Dominic to disarm him, releasing the sword as it made contact and half-heartedly ducking the slash that whistled over his head. They weren’t running the drill at full speed, obviously knowing and reacting to each move in advance of its occurrence. The motions were lazy, without the energy they usually contained, and Orlando could see that the others were as weary as he was.

Evidently Kirk could as well, because as soon as Dominic’s sword was safely lowered, he clapped his hands. “That’s enough for today, guys,” he called, and Sean and Billy both nodded acknowledgement without looking as they completed their own drill.

“Nice,” Orlando said, and Dominic’s face crinkled into a smile.

“Come on then,” he goaded, waving his wooden sword in Orlando’s direction. “Let’s have a go.”

Orlando started to protest, his body convinced that it was finished with work for the morning, but the urge to show off was just too strong to resist. He shrugged the duffel bag off his shoulder onto the ground and held out a hand to Elijah, grinning at Dominic. Elijah held back for a moment, eyes measuring Orlando in a way that reminded him of Bob and his sixth-grade teacher, and then reversed the sword to pass it to Orlando. Their hands brushed over the hilt, and Orlando laughed, giddy with a feeling of release.

“Shall I fight for your honor, then?” he teased; heard Dominic’s answering snort.

“He doesn’t have any left. Come on then, put ’em up.”

“Half-speed, gentlemen,” Kirk spoke up, and both of them bobbed their heads obediently as they stepped away from each other. Out of the corner of his eye Orlando could see Sean and Billy leaning on their swords, tips resting on the turf, and Elijah standing oddly defenseless a few feet away from them.

“Distance,” Orlando called it, lunged so that the tip of his sword was at the level of Dominic’s ribs. The weight of it was unfamiliar, more bulky yet somehow lighter than the Epees he was used to practicing with. He twisted his wrist slightly, trying to find the best support.

“You call that distance?” Dominic taunted, thumb and pinkie spread into a ‘Y’ shape as he measured the space between Orlando’s sword-tip and his own torso. “At least two inches off, mate. Easily.”

Orlando rolled his eyes, knowing that the gesture was lost behind his sunglasses. “Cut the chatter, Monaghan,” he snapped back, doing his best impression of Bob after a long day of actor screw-ups.

Dominic smiled and cued.

Reaction, action, principle.

They started slow, knowing that Kirk was keeping a close eye on them, but as the moves got more advanced, they began to speed up. Orlando was faster, but most of the moves that he had practiced were a lot of effort with very little result. Flash, rather than efficiency. Dominic simply swung at him, the force of his cuts sending little shocks up Orlando’s arm.

Eventually Orlando found an opening, beat away Dominic’s blade and caught it close on the return, envelopment sending the other’s sword flying away into the grass. Dominic looked stunned, and then broke into a huge grin. “Man, what have they been teaching you? You have to show me how to do that.”

“Later,” Billy countermanded from the sidelines. “After we get some food, I’m starving.”

Orlando ducked his head, basking in the praise and the victory. He caught sight of the blade on the ground, resting at Elijah’s feet. Elijah had made no move to pick it up; was simply standing there, looking at him.

“I won for you,” Orlando teased, hoping to draw him out.

Elijah didn’t smile. “I know.”

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Orlando clicked on the bedside lamp, which cast shadows across the room but precious little illumination. He sensed Elijah following him into the room, heard him pause near the bed.

“No, not at all. Just let me…”  
The bathroom light was almost as bad as the lamp, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling that felt uncomfortably stark and clinical. Orlando slid the mirror above the sink to one side, rifling through the cabinet, which was filled with various personal items and bottles of medication.

“Here it is,” he announced, pulling the plastic bottle from the back of the top shelf. It hadn’t been opened since he got here; there was still a strip of clear tape over the top to keep it from leaking during travel.

“Thanks.” Elijah was still standing awkwardly in the center of the bedroom, hands jammed in his pockets. Orlando paused a moment, opened his mouth to say something, and couldn’t figure out what. He clicked the light off in the bathroom, casting Elijah back into half-shadow, and walked over to pass the bottle.

Elijah peeled off the tape, cracked the lid and sniffed. “What is it?”

“Just some herbal mix. It’s all natural, aromatherapy or something.” The scent was teasing him now, escaping the plastic bottle to perfume his bedroom. It was a complicated blend, a bouquet of smells that confused his nose. Orlando wrinkled it, hands seeking out his own pockets. “It’s heat-activated, so it’s really good for muscle aches, but you have to…” He paused, hands over Elijah’s now, turning the bottle to show him the label. “Do you have a minute?” He smiled lopsidedly, fingers laced between Elijah’s over the container. “There’s kind of a trick to it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Elijah held on a moment longer before relinquishing the bottle, slipping his hands from beneath Orlando’s.

“Here, stick out your arm,” Orlando ordered, flipping the cap back onto the bottle and placing his thumb over it. “You have to shake it, so that the two parts mix…you see how the bottom half is reddish, and the top is lighter? You want it to all be the same colour before you use it. It blends the, uh, the chemicals and stuff.” Orlando shook the bottle vigorously, watching Elijah watch the bottle. When Elijah looked up to meet his eyes, Orlando glanced away. “There, see? Now it’s all kind of pinkish.”

He cracked the lid again – the pungent scent of herbs much stronger this time – and tipped the bottle so that a small amount of liquid pooled in his hand. “Arm,” he said again, and Elijah obediently held one out in front of him. His other hand caught the sleeve of his T-shirt, pulled back the fabric to expose his upper arm.

“Rub it between your palms for a little while…that heats it up,” Orlando explained, and his voice seemed to be softer than before, but that may have been because of the dim lighting. Why did people always talk more quietly in the dark? He cleared his throat and continued more forcefully, “Then you just have to smooth it over the skin, and work it in a bit. You won’t really feel anything, but if it doesn’t seem hot, then it’s not warm enough.”

His hands were moving as he talked, palms cupped over Elijah’s pale arm to smear the oil onto his skin. Elijah didn’t move, stood silently while Orlando began rubbing gently, working the oil into tense muscles and bruised flesh. “Like this,” Orlando offered needlessly, and his voice was quiet again for some reason, and he could feel Elijah’s eyes on his face.

“Want me to sit down?” Elijah asked calmly, and Orlando shrugged.

“You don’t have to; this won’t take long.” He worked over the muscles in Elijah’s forearm, the ones that he knew hurt after sword work, and around the fragile tendons in his wrist. He could feel the bones beneath his skin, brittle and close to the surface, and lingered only a moment before moving on to the back of Elijah’s hand. His fingers probed flesh and muscle, pressed firmly into the skin as he worked over Elijah’s slender fingers, back up his arm past the elbow.

“Here…this is mostly for girls, but you probably need it right now. Sword work knots these up…” His hands assisted Elijah’s in pushing the T-shirt sleeve even further up, over his shoulder, and his fingers found Elijah’s pectorals, pressed and rotated, feeling the knotted muscle beneath his fingertips begin to relax and release. “How’s that?” he asked, and didn’t know why this suddenly felt awkward, charged, as if they weren’t two friends sharing a favor after a long day of work. He was acutely aware of the bed a few feet away, and the lamp that didn’t really do much to disperse the darkness of post-twilight.

“It’s good.” Elijah’s voice was quiet as well, but there was no uncertainty or hesitation in it. Orlando risked a glance up at his face, saw Elijah’s eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly as Orlando continued to massage him. “Nice.”

“Do you want…” And then he forgot what he was saying, and Elijah’s eyes flicked open, focused on his face. Orlando couldn’t figure out how they had gotten this close, could feel Elijah’s breath on his throat as he looked up, Elijah’s suddenly tense muscles beneath his fingertips.

“Orlando,” Elijah whispered, and it sounded like an invitation, but he hesitated a moment too long before leaning in to accept. Elijah pulled away, nervous fingers plucking the sleeve back down, throat cleared surreptitiously as he glanced at the carpet. “This wasn’t supposed to be a…a sexual thing,” Elijah said clearly, and Orlando blinked, took a breath.

“No, of course not, I mean, you and…” He stopped, deciding not to go there just now, to leave the third person out of the room.

“Orlando,” Elijah said again, and something in Orlando’s stomach twitched at the sound, at seeing Elijah’s lips form his name. “Sometimes…” he said slowly, eyes coming back up to meet Orlando’s – and every time he did that Orlando forgot, for a second, to breathe – “Sometimes close friends become something more…” He trailed off, licked his lips in a motion that was innocent for its very self-consciousness. “And sometimes they don’t.”

“Oh,” Orlando said, and he wasn’t really thinking of what to say because his mind was still stuck on the physical sensations, the feeling of Elijah burnt into his fingertips and the smell of the herbs making him slightly dizzy. “That’s cool.”

“Orlando,” Elijah said again, but Orlando had already turned away, and this was easily the most childish thing he’d ever done, but he was doing it anyway.

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Orlando called back, voice raised now that he was safely in the hallway, with the bright light from the living room banishing whispers.

He looked back in time to see Elijah open his mouth, close it again and shake his head. “Yeah, sure.”

Orlando opened the front door, stood holding it and fidgeting while he waited for Elijah to leave, pretending that he didn’t notice Elijah’s other-world eyes studying him, measuring again.

“Here’s the oil,” Orlando said, offering the bottle. Elijah took it slowly, still watching him. Orlando shifted his weight; wished for Elijah to leave so that he could be embarrassed alone.

Elijah finally looked away, walked out the door, but he turned just after crossing the threshold. “Wait…”

Orlando willed himself to look up, to meet those eyes. There was a pleading in them that he hadn’t expected, and it pierced the shield of nonchalance that he had been erecting.

“We were going out tonight…the hobbits, I mean…” Elijah actually appeared to be at a loss for words, something Orlando had never yet seen. “Do you want to come?” The last was spoken quietly, as if Elijah were already certain of the answer and just waiting for the axe to fall. Orlando took a breath, considered his evening and the possible salvaging of their relationship. It was a peace offering, and they both knew it.

“Yeah, sure,” Orlando agreed, and was surprised to see a tiny smile of relief on Elijah’s face. “Where are we going?”

“Downtown,” Elijah answered, rocking back a little onto his heels and bouncing. “You can follow me. Or I can try to give you directions, but it’s a little hard to find…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Orlando interrupted, already reaching for the ring of keys on his end table. “We’ll take my Jeep.”

* * *

_Orlando thought it might be similar to losing your virginity. Sometimes the fantasizing and anticipation was better than the reality._

_Then again, sometimes it wasn’t._

* * *

The bar wasn’t one that Orlando would have chosen, but the hobbits looked comfortable, drinking and raising their voices to be heard over a crowd of others who were all doing the same. He and Elijah were the last to arrive, and Orlando saw surprise flit across three faces before they were welcomed cheerfully into the circle.

They crowded around a table far too small to fit them all, and it was impossible to tell whose elbows-knees-feet were whose. Sean immediately began questioning Elijah about their schedule the next day, which left Orlando free to watch Dominic and Billy, who appeared to be absorbed in some kind of architectural drinking game that involved artistically stacking everything not bolted down to the table.

“Hey!” everyone except Orlando yelled at the same time, as the stack of assorted dishes, condiment containers, and utensils came crashing down; apparently that was another part of the game. A pert waitress stopped by as they were sorting through the mess, offering more drinks, a pitcher of water, and a quick, shy smile for Billy before she moved on to her next table. Dominic commented under his breath with a wicked grin and an elbow in Billy’s ribcage, and Elijah laughed, sharp-bright and beautiful, and Orlando looked away when he felt Sean’s eyes on him.

“The secret,” Billy announced a moment later, probably to divert everyone’s attention, “is to keep drinking water. As long as you keep drinking water, you’re not really drunk.”

“No, but you have to use the gents’ an awful lot,” Dominic jibed, and raised his pint mockingly in Billy’s direction before drinking.

Billy made a smart comment, which Orlando seconded, and before long he had been made a part of the hobbit circle, a member of their family for the evening. He was only infrequently distracted by Elijah’s eyes across the table, by the brief brush of a hand against his leg beneath the table that could have belonged to anyone, but probably didn’t. He watched, and he listened, and he learned.

Elijah always set his glass down in exactly the same place, in the sloppy ring left by condensation. Billy and Dominic went out of their way to put things in the other’s way, and Sean was forever adjusting the placement of glasses and knives and the occasional ‘fork sculpture’ that rose out of an empty mug. There was a sharp-edged sarcasm that ran through the dialogue, and Orlando was stung by several comments before he realized that this was all part of hanging out with the hobbits.

Sometime during the evening, Orlando and Elijah picked up their glasses at the same time, shared identical winces of pain as the weight pulled at the abused muscles in their forearms, and drank after a mock-toast to shared misery. Elijah carefully set his drink in Orlando’s condensation-ring.

Orlando supposed that it meant something.

“Elijah,” Dominic drawled, stretching so that a sliver of tan stomach peeked out from beneath his tank top, “come dance with me.”

“I don’t…Dominic…” Elijah finally gave up, half-grumbling and half-laughing as Dominic pulled him away from the table and out into the crowd. “Wanker.” Dominic just grinned, showing teeth, and Orlando frowned without really knowing why.

“Did you come over together?” Sean asked, expression showing nothing but friendly interest. “’Cause I can take him home if you’d like…”

“No, it’s fine,” Orlando demurred, perhaps a shade too quickly. He was nowhere near inebriated, but nerves over what might yet happen and guilt for what had happened before were combining to make him dizzy and overheated. The veiled suggestions about his love life and choice of bed partners that had seemed to underscore the conversation all evening weren’t helping, either. “His car’s at my townhouse, anyway. I’ll just drive him there and he can take himself home. If he’s tired, he can crash; I don’t mind.”

Part of him knew that he was babbling, and he reached for a drink to cover his flush, chiding himself for being so open. Billy didn’t seem to notice; he was shaking his head and laughing. Orlando caught himself a second before he turned to glance at the dance floor, and took another drink instead.

“Uh-oh…who let the two control freaks share a car?” Sean asked, smiling, and after a split second of hesitation, Orlando smiled back.

“This I’ve gotta see,” Billy insisted, and Orlando found himself caught up in their merriment.

“Nothing to see here, gentlemen,” he said loftily, waving an imperious hand. “Move along…” And maybe he was slightly more intoxicated than he had thought, but he was too giddy to worry about it now. Billy only laughed harder, and Sean chuckled, watching Billy’s face flush red as he gasped for air.

“What’s so funny?” someone asked behind them, and Billy rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes before responding.

“Elijah and Orlando are sharing a car,” he explained, and even if Orlando didn’t understand why this was so funny, he felt obliged to smile and nod.

“Who’s driving?” Dominic asked, straight-faced, and Billy doubled up in laughter again.

“Come on, guys, I’m not _that_ much of a control freak,” Elijah protested, and Orlando could feel the brush of his hip against Orlando’s shoulder, which made him smile more.

“I’ll let you choose radio stations; how does that sound?” he offered, tilting his head back so that he could catch Elijah’s crooked smile.

“Whatever, are you ready to go?” The back of Elijah’s hand discreetly stroked over the nape of his neck, and Orlando’s mirth died instantly at the look in Elijah’s eyes.

He wondered if perhaps he’d missed a cue.

“Yeah, sure…”

“Orlando, a word,” Dominic interrupted smoothly, and Elijah seemed about to argue but turned away after a brief but meaningful exchange of glances.

Orlando frowned but followed anyway, pretending not to notice the awkward silence that had fallen across their table.

Dominic drew him a few feet away and stopped, one hand on Orlando’s elbow holding him in place as he leaned in, voice low against the background noise of laughter and conversation. “Don’t hurt him.”

Orlando bristled and started to pull away, the movement checked by Dominic’s grip on his arm. “What makes you think I would?” He rushed on before Dominic could respond. “And I’m touched, by the way, that you’re so concerned about my emotional well-being as well as Elijah’s.”

“I just think…”

“Yeah, I know what you just thought, but you’re wrong. Save it, Dominic. I don’t sleep around.” He was furious, and inebriated, and the skepticism in Dominic’s eyes hurt when it should have meant nothing. He yanked his arm out of Dominic’s grasp and nearly elbowed a passing server, who gave him a startled glance before continuing on her way. “You know what? Forget it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

He was out the door before anyone could try to talk him into staying with phony smiles and false offers of friendship.

Screw that. And screw them, anyway. He didn’t need this.

He performed a quick mental check as he left the bar on the way to the parking lot, making sure that he had his keys and wallet; that nothing had been left on the table. His mind was racing, replaying dialogue and actions and the myriad details that had made up this hellish day. He was so preoccupied that he somehow passed the car; backtracked a few rows and became thoroughly confused before he finally found it.

Elijah was standing there waiting for him.

It stopped him cold for a moment, but then he shook off the lingering feelings of attraction and interest, walking the last few steps to the Jeep and unlocking the driver’s side door. He took a deep breath and released it in a sigh, which took his energy and will to fight along with his anger; now he just felt tired.

“Go back in,” Orlando said after another moment of silence, opening the car door and pausing with one hand on the frame. “Sean’s there. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Take me home,” Elijah commanded.

“Elijah…”

“Orlando,” Elijah said softly. “Take me home.”

Orlando closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. Then he reached inside to unlock the passenger side door. “Get in.”

* * *

Orlando didn’t comment when Elijah followed him inside rather than going to his own car; he held the door open and waited. Elijah walked past him into the townhouse, one finger reaching out to trace patterns on the counter that separated living room from kitchen.

“If this happens,” Elijah said quietly, offhandedly, “it never happened. Is that okay?”

Orlando could handle that. The first rule in any acting class was ‘what happens in the room stays in the room.’ You didn’t tell anyone else about it, and you didn’t talk about it. It was a secret.

Thinking about all of the secret things that could happen in a bedroom made him swallow. Thinking about all of the things that could happen with Elijah…

Orlando locked the door.

Elijah looked up at the sound, slight trembling in his fingers where they rested against the ecru countertop, and Orlando found himself drowning in dilated pupils. Black, not blue. Bottomless, fathomless black.

He took a few steps forward; stopped. “Earlier you said…”

“I meant Dom.” Elijah took a deep breath; Orlando watched his collarbones shift into sharp relief and fade again. “Not you.”

Orlando walked the rest of the way across the room, pressed Elijah against the counter without consciously deciding to do it. Elijah’s pulse fluttered against his palm where he curled it around a thin wrist. Elijah’s skin against his was a contrast that he didn’t dare think about. Elijah’s body…

Elijah’s hand curved around the back of his neck, drawing him down for a kiss. Lips parted; the tip of Elijah’s tongue touched his, stroking tentatively, and he returned the gentle pressure. Everything about Elijah was soft, but there was a wiry strength beneath that made Orlando moan and pull him in closer, deeper.

“Bedroom?” Elijah asked, breathless when they pulled apart. Orlando wondered if it was nerves or lack of oxygen that made his voice go high and desperate, that pushed the air out of his lungs in a whispered rush. He nodded, tugged gently with the hand still holding Elijah’s wrist.

Orlando hadn’t thought about undressing in front of someone else in a long time, didn’t usually get self-conscious about the way he looked or the way he was looking at someone else. But Elijah’s eyes were averted, shy, except for when they met his once somewhere between removing socks and boxers. Then the bold defiance in them made Orlando’s stomach tighten abruptly, and he’d had to look away.

Elijah was only eighteen, but he was an international superstar; and this could quite possibly be the biggest mistake Orlando has ever made.

They met awkwardly at the foot of the bed; still standing, because that was a line Orlando refused to cross alone. He wondered why Elijah wanted to keep this a secret. Wondered how many other secrets Elijah was keeping. Wondered how Elijah’s skin would taste beneath his tongue.

Elijah’s hands stroked over his body, and by the time he thought to return the favor, Elijah had captured his hands and sunk onto the bed, looking up at him. If Orlando were a little less worldly, he could easily mistake that look for trust. As it was, it was enough to make him cover Elijah’s body with his own, forcing him down onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and tongues.

Elijah moaned beneath him and squirmed backwards, pulling Orlando with him across the mattress until they reached the pillows. Orlando couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t shake the feeling that made his arms tremble slightly against Elijah’s. He pulled away from the kiss when he ran out of air; when he needed to be reminded that this was really happening.

Orlando’s sheets were a deep blue, almost navy. He knew how he looked against them, had matched them specifically to his skin tone; was well aware of the way his skin glowed golden when he was naked and aroused.

He hadn’t been prepared for what they did to Elijah.

Especially Elijah as he was now, stretched out pale and vulnerable, drowning in dark fabric, an ocean of blue to swallow him up.

Orlando didn’t know if he would ever breathe again.

Elijah’s eyes hadn’t left his, and Orlando moved in to kiss him, to close his eyes against what Elijah was making him feel simply by existing. He suspected that if he looked into Elijah’s pupils for long enough, he would see his own soul.

Elijah’s legs slid against his, rustle of fabric as they reorganized positions and body parts. Orlando couldn’t stop the gasp that fled his throat, and kissed Elijah harder when he heard the soft chuckle against his throat. He wanted Elijah to be a virgin. He wanted to be the only one who had ever seen him like this, ever felt him this way.

But he wasn’t sure, so he didn’t ask.

Elijah’s beauty was distracting him, blinding him, and he couldn’t concentrate and lose himself in Elijah’s rhythm with the feeling that those eyes were watching him, evaluating and judging. After a quick whispered question and a ‘yes, all right,’ he reached up to turn off the bedside lamp.

And was left with the afterglow of Elijah burned against his eyelids.

* * *

_The first time, it was almost like making love to a marionette…back arching and chest lifting with each withdrawal as if pulled by an invisible string. White carved features; cheeks flushed pink. Pace so excruciatingly slow that it made Orlando want to scream._

_The epitome of eternity._


	2. Chapter 2

“I might be in a war movie. I mean, really, how crazy is that? And you should read the part, I mean…”

Dominic clapped Orlando on the back as they walked together to the parking lot, just hard enough to sting. “Orlando, be kind. Some of us are getting sent two crap scripts per month.”

Orlando checked his next sentence, bobbed his head meekly instead. “I know, but it’s just…”

“We know,” Elijah snapped, quick and tart, and Orlando glanced up in surprise. Elijah looked annoyed, but a split second later he smiled apologetically, and Orlando wondered if he had been joking.

“You need to calm down, mate,” Dominic commented, eyebrows raised. He moved a half-step closer to Elijah, who shifted automatically in his direction. Orlando looked away and searched briefly for a cigarette before realizing that he’d left the pack at home. On the nightstand, along with his wallet and the imprint of Elijah in his sheets.

He’d been in a bit of a hurry that morning.

“It’s just been a long day.” Elijah drifted away as easily as he’d moved in, comfort offered and received in a fraction of a moment. Orlando hated that it was that easy for them, that they meshed without thought. Emotional bonding always took a lot of effort for him, and the result was never as genuine.

“I hear that,” Sean chimed in.

Elijah rolled his shoulders, neck cracking as he stretched. A tiny wince of pain flickered past so quickly that Orlando may as well have imagined it. “I’m never working on my knees again.”

“Nah,” Dominic countered, smiling blandly at the horizon. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”

Orlando glanced between them, alarmed and guilty, but Elijah didn’t bat an eyelash. “Wanker.” A moment later he looked over, radiating calm and control, and Orlando felt like a child hiding dirty magazines from his parents.

“So Orlando, you’d be working with Josh in this one, right?”

He frowned, but Elijah’s eyes weren’t giving anything away. “I think so, yeah. According to rumor.”

Elijah had found his own cigarettes, slipped one professionally between his lips and snapped the lighter. A deep inhalation, and then he blew smoke, eyes fluttering closed in an expression of perfect nicotine bliss.

“Don’t tell Josh anything,” he advised. “He can’t keep a secret.”

Orlando blinked. Billy launched into a tale about another co-star who had gotten caught in bed with two women, neither of which were his wife. Orlando tuned out until Sean brought them to a halt with a loud warning.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Dominic said, examining the strands of the spider web stretched between trees. It was a real work of art, thicker white strands looping through the weave to create a dizzying pattern. It was clear from several feet away, which was where they had stopped; now Orlando and Dominic crept closer, with the others lagging a few feet behind.

“Elijah, come look at this,” Dominic called back, picking up a stick.

“I don’t think the spider likes cigarette smoke,” Elijah shot back, holding the cig loosely at his side.

Orlando traced the pattern, studied the way it consistently returned to the large black-and-yellow spider watchfully standing guard at the center. His eyes caught Elijah’s through the web; looked away.

“He hasn’t caught anything yet, though,” Billy pointed out cheerfully, watching Dominic tap the web carefully with his stick.

Orlando wasn’t really surprised.

After all, the whole point of spider-silk was that you didn’t see it until it was too late.

“Dom, come on, leave it alone,” Billy chided, smiling as he caught the end of the stick and turned it aside. “We’ve got to go home and get dressed.”

“Going out tonight?” Orlando asked casually, looking anywhere but at Elijah.

Dominic hesitated, eyes flicking over the other three before he replied. “Yes, actually…ehm, reservations at that new Italian place. I suppose we could change them…ask them if they can seat five on short notice…”

“Never mind,” Orlando said quickly, looking away. Dominic’s invitation had been carefully neutral, the tone that politely offered while suggesting that the best response would be to decline. “I have plans anyway.”

“Well, then,” Dominic replied, and to his credit there was very little hint of relief in his voice. Orlando’s eyes met Elijah’s again, but they were blank. He forced himself to breathe around the tightening of his jaw; consciously released tensed muscles in his shoulders. Yoga tomorrow, he decided absently, would be an excellent idea. He didn’t think about the possibility that Elijah would take up his free time. That would make the reality too disappointing.

They had reached the parking lot; Orlando spotted Viggo and Sean and used them to make his escape before anyone suspected that something was wrong. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” he interjected quickly, interrupting an inside joke regarding girls and foam latex toes.

Three hobbits chorused absent goodbyes; Elijah just stared at him. There was a question in his eyes that Orlando couldn’t begin to answer out here, in front of Elijah’s friends. So he turned and jogged away in the direction of his Jeep.

“Orlando,” Elijah called after him a second later, but he pretended not to hear. He changed his mind the moment after, guilt churning up from his stomach like acid, but Elijah was already turned away and the hobbits had closed ranks.

He prayed that his double-take hadn’t been noticed and wandered over, smiling brightly, to Viggo and Sean.

“Orlando,” Sean greeted him warily, but there was mischief in his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” he responded, turning the full force of his smile on Viggo. “Big plans for tonight?”

“Just wine and chess, actually,” Viggo answered, eyes narrowed although he was smiling slightly in return. “Why? Are you looking for entertainment?”

“No, I just…” he floundered after an explanation, wondered how much he could lie his way through.

“It just seems as if you would have more fun with the hobbits, rather than with us…older gentlemen.”

That stung, in spite of the gentle mockery he knew was intended. “I don’t feel like it, actually,” he fabricated, patting his pockets before remembering once again that his cigarettes had been left behind. “Think I’ll make it an early night.”

They let him go so easily that it was almost an insult, and he slammed the Jeep door just a trifle harder than he perhaps should have. Viggo’s eyes watched him across the lot; probing rather than measuring, but it still felt like an invasion. His tires quite probably left scorch marks on the hot tarmac, but he didn’t look back to check.

He didn’t really want to go to Viggo’s, anyway. But he didn’t want to go home, either. He certainly didn’t want to go out with the hobbits. With Elijah.

He went dancing instead.

* * *

He had no idea where he’d ended up. He’d checked out several clubs – and several cocktails – before finding one with bright enough lights and loud enough music. Then he’d had more cocktails, and suddenly the night was starting to look up.

He’d thought about finding someone to take home, but nausea tickled the back of his throat at the idea; he’d probably had too much to drink for pulling tonight.

It wasn’t what he wanted anyway, although he kept quashing the little voice in his head that kept telling him that. What he wanted was to feel that coiled strength beneath his again, to hear Elijah gasp his name with every thrust into his body. He wanted to break Elijah, in a way that would mark him forever. He wanted…

He wanted to be a hell of a lot drunker than this, if he was still thinking in complete sentences.

The lights were starting to hurt his eyes: which was okay, but they were also making him dizzy. Flashes of colour strobed across the teeming dance floor, waves of blue; orange; magenta. He needed to sit down before he fell.

There was definite grace in the way he stumbled into the bar, the wooden counter cutting unforgiving into his ribs, and he was proud of it. He decided that it ought to be enough to impress the petite brunette who was watching him and smiling, sitting on the next stool over. He waited until the barman had placed a weighty glass in front of him before he made a move.

“You are, like, a total doll,” he told her, and she blinked at him and then laughed.

“You are, like, totally smashed,” a voice murmured, close to his ear. If the world hadn’t been moving so slowly, Orlando probably would have jumped. Instead, he swung around, loose-limbed, to confront whomever was interrupting his conquest.

The strobes flashed across Elijah’s face, and his skin reflected the light in purest colours. Purple; green. Orlando steadied himself and commanded his eyes to focus.

“What do you want?” he demanded. It was rather rude of him, but Elijah had been tormenting him all night, present or not, and all he really wanted at this point was to get drunk and sleep off the hangover that would sure to follow.

“Dance with me?” Elijah invited, looking more open and friendly than Orlando had any reason to expect. Which was, Orlando reasoned, definite cause for suspicion. The creature looking at him through contact lens-enhanced eyes and artfully lowered lashes knew exactly what effect they were having on him.

Orlando set his drink down hard, saw Elijah’s eyes flick to it automatically to check where it landed.

“You,” he accused, one finger pointing with only a slight waver at Elijah, “need to stop sending me mixed signals.” Orlando wanted very badly to get drunk and laid, preferably without further distraction and delay, and the brunette was undoubtedly losing interest.

In a moment of complete disorientation as the lights flashed from gold to blue and back to gold, Orlando found himself being pulled off his stool. Elijah was warm against his body, arms and torsos making fleeting contact as they wormed their way onto the dance floor. They danced close out of necessity, Elijah’s chest rubbing against his, Elijah’s eyes boring into him. Orlando looked away and concentrated on the feel of their bodies together, the rhythm drumming out of bass speakers.

Elijah’s hands were guiding his hips, allowing no more than brief snatches of contact between his own body and Orlando’s groin. The light tickle of fabric against the crotch of his pants was immensely frustrating; nowhere near enough pressure to seriously arouse, but enough to make him press forward every time his inseam was pulled tighter.

“I cannot believe that you were actually trying to pull that poor girl,” Elijah laughed, leaning just a little closer to be heard over the pounding music. “Man, your skills are pathetic.”

Orlando wondered what, exactly, he had done to earn this level of abuse and disdain. “I pulled you,” he retorted sharply, flushing anyway. His skin felt hot; his face flaming, the itch between his legs warming to a burn.

“Yeah, well, you’re considerably more charming when you’re not sloshed,” Elijah quipped. He seemed so relaxed that Orlando squinted at him in suspicion for a moment, checking for dilation of pupils or shallow breathing that would tell him Elijah was flying higher than he was this evening.

But there was nothing, only endless black ringed with blue, and Orlando realized too late that he’d made the mistake of really looking into Elijah’s eyes.

“I’m not in love with you,” Orlando informed him seriously, speaking to Elijah and to his own soul reflected back at him. It was important, somehow, for Elijah to know that. For both of them.

“That’s all right,” Elijah replied easily, “I’m not in love with you either.” For a moment, the amusement in his voice gave way to mild aggravation. “God, why do you have to make everything so complicated?”

Orlando closed his eyes and hummed along to the music, trying to lose himself in the dance and tease Elijah’s body closer to his. Just a fraction…

When he opened his eyes, Elijah was still there. Orlando had half-expected him to disappear, or to turn into someone else who stared out of the same eyes. The world spun around him again, and he wished fleetingly for his drink, abandoned back at the bar. He stumbled as someone bumped into him from behind, and Elijah’s arms came up to catch him. He breathed in the scent of Elijah beneath the stale smell of sweat, let himself go limp in Elijah’s arms for a moment before pulling back.

“I want to take you home,” Orlando stated firmly, voice raised to reach Elijah over the thump of bass drums and electronic harmony.

“Could you say it a little louder? I don’t think the people at the door heard you,” Elijah returned, but he was smiling. A pause, and then he shook his head. “Sometimes I despair of you.”

“Despair of me in bed,” Orlando suggested, and thought that that was the best pick-up line he’d heard all night. Pity he’d just thought of it, he could have used it on the blonde. Brunette. Whatever.

Elijah laughed, high and as painfully bright as the strobes, but he was already pulling Orlando towards the door and away from the crowd that threatened to swallow them. Orlando let his eyes close as they reached the door, enjoyed the cool air against his face and rested his head passively on Elijah’s shoulder as they walked.

“You are going to be such a mess in the morning,” Orlando heard, along with another laugh as he drifted in and out of awareness. Elijah had gotten them a cab, evidently, and Orlando was lying sprawled across the back seat, his head at an awkward angle on Elijah’s chest.

“Oh, and I suppose you’ve never been out for a few drinks, yeah?” Talking almost wasn’t worth the effort; his tongue felt like a three-pound weight in his mouth, and his lips buzzed when they moved.

Elijah’s hands stroked the hair back from his forehead, combed through sweaty, tangled curls. “I never said that,” he countered quietly, his voice thankfully hushed and not grating on Orlando’s skull. “I’ve just learned better.”

Behind closed lids, Orlando could hear the sparkle in Elijah’s eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asked drowsily, just to keep Elijah talking. His voice was almost soothing. Which was odd, because Elijah’s voice was always so full of pent-up energy, even when he was dead on his feet.

“I got tired of vomiting,” Elijah returned lightly. “Up you go.”

They somehow made it from the cab to the house without difficulty, even though Orlando’s head kept lolling about because the muscles in his neck weren’t working properly. His eyes refused to stay open, and he clenched them tight against the brightness when Elijah found the switch.

“Come on,” Elijah coaxed, and Orlando responded a second too late to the gentle push of Elijah’s hands against his chest; landed on the soft mattress with a ‘whoomph’ that took the air from his lungs.

“Don’t wanna,” Orlando replied petulantly. Because it was almost fun, having Elijah doing this. Taking off his shoes and socks, looking after him, giving Orlando his complete attention…

Orlando didn’t open his eyes, but he heard the rustle as Elijah sorted out the covers – still rumpled from Elijah’s stay the night before – and felt hands guiding him to the pillow a moment later.

“Sleep well,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando reached out blindly.

“Stay,” he mumbled, barely able to focus his energy long enough to speak. “Want you.”

“Orlando, you’re…oh, all right,” Elijah capitulated. “I don’t want to drive home at this hour anyway.”

Orlando heard the click of the bedside lamp and felt the cool darkness against his closed eyelids. He sighed contentedly into the pillow, asleep before Elijah’s skin ever touched his.

* * *

_Elijah liked to ride. Bottom-from-the-top. It was a control thing, probably, and proof that he was free to do what he liked. Free in a way that he never was outside of the bedroom. Orlando respected that._

_He just wished that it wasn’t all about control._

* * *

“No, no, and no.” Ngila left with the mock-ups, and Orlando pulled on his shirt, doing up the buttons from the bottom. Costume fittings were proceeding much faster than usual; he might just have an hour or two left before afternoon weapons practice. He settled onto the overstuffed couch in a bright corner of the room, once again dressed completely in street clothes, and waited for one of the costume mistresses to dismiss him.

The desire to go home and nurse his hangover was battling with the urge to stay and be sociable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow alienated the hobbits en masse, and while his throbbing brain insisted that _they_ were the ones who’d ditched _him_ yesterday, it did seem as if they were irked. Odds were three to one that it was something to do with Elijah.

He reacted to the thought before he had a chance to really consider it, and caught himself for the umpteenth time watching Elijah across the costume shop, being pinned into a set of loose trousers.

Orlando had been alone when he’d woken up this morning, and he wasn’t at all sure how to feel about that. Elijah had been called earlier than he had, which may have accounted for his disappearance. The possibility that he hadn’t stayed the night was disturbingly prominent in Orlando’s mind…but there was still a persistent warmth in his stomach when he thought of Elijah’s sleep-loosened limbs tangled with his.

This whole thing with Elijah was just moving way too fast. He was drowning, and desperately needed to bail before it was too late.

And yet…

He was distracted by the rustle of a potted plant, and looked up to see Dominic perching beside him on the couch. Dominic was half in costume, a bizarre combination of British punk and fantasy peasant. Chalk lines and brightly-coloured pins decorated his mock-vest, which made him look a bit like a children’s scarecrow. Tufts of wheat-blond hair in total disarray did nothing to dispel the image, and Orlando hid his smile in time only because the pain in his head redoubled when the couch cushions shifted.

“How’s it going?” Dominic asked, jerking his head in the direction of the departing Ngila.

“They haven’t gotten it quite right yet. Still too patchwork, she says.” Ordinarily, Orlando would be more than willing to launch into a discussion of his character, and what garb would be considered appropriate for a prince of his rank – but today he felt like half an invalid, and he was continually distracted from his thoughts by Elijah, standing patiently across the room, arms outstretched as chattering women draped him in fabric and pattern paper.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Dominic asked idly behind him, and Orlando murmured something like noncommittal assent before his brain caught up with the question.

“I’m sorry?” If there was a way to extricate himself from this, he needed it now. Continuing along this line of conversation would only serve to alienate the hobbits collectively and Elijah singularly, which was not what he wanted at this moment in time.

“He looks so fragile, doesn’t he? Almost hungry.” Dominic’s eyes were on Elijah as he spoke, and all Orlando could do was stare at him in disbelief and listen. “I wonder…” Dominic began, drifted off and turned his gaze on Orlando. “How hard a fucking do you think it would take to make him come, eh?”

“Excuse me?” If Orlando hadn’t been so completely stunned, he would have probably been squirming. “I really don’t think…”

“It’s just, when you’re pretty, you get fucked,” Dominic continued bluntly.

Orlando thought that if he didn’t have such an incredible hangover, he’d be getting a lot more out of this conversation.

Dominic’s eyes glinted dangerously, and realization clicked into place so quickly that Orlando had to take a moment before he could really believe it. Dominic knew. Dominic bloody well knew, and Orlando hadn’t said a word…

He was off the couch and across the room so quickly that he nearly ran over one of the cutter/drapers. Elijah’s eyes were wide and startled, and Orlando briefly lost track of his anger, but the presence of Dominic scrambling after him dispelled any momentary misgivings. “What did you tell him?” he demanded, and saw the look in Elijah’s eyes change in between heartbeats.

“I’m sorry, would you excuse us please?” Elijah’s movie-star smile evidently reassured the costume staff; they slipped out wordlessly and left the actors alone in the room, at an apparent standoff. “Lock the door, Sean,” Elijah commanded, his eyes never leaving Orlando’s.

“What about…” Orlando began, with a dismissive wave at the others in the room. Whatever Elijah had or hadn’t told Dominic was one thing, but this was a private discussion. He wasn’t going to talk in euphemisms just because Sean and Billy were present.

“They already know,” Elijah replied, cutting him off. No apology, no regret. Orlando was beginning to wonder what kind of a game Elijah was playing with him.

“Of course they do.” Orlando took a moment to glare at Dominic, as he was the closest. Dominic didn’t budge an inch.

“What’s the problem?” Elijah asked, and the fact that he was so calm was perversely making Orlando even more furious.

“You told them. After you told me to keep it our dirty little secret…”

“And a fine job you’re doing, too, of not raising any suspicions.” Elijah’s eyes were starting to brighten, fire and ice melting together in his gaze. “It’s only been two days, and yesterday you threw a tantrum and left…”

“I thought that was the way you wanted it!” Orlando retorted, upset out of all proportion now that it had become a personal attack. “After you made such a big deal about it…”

“Oh, grow up, Orlando,” Elijah snapped, and the venom and disdain in his voice almost made Orlando flinch.

“Why? Because you have? Because in Hollywood everyone has to be ashamed of themselves or they have nothing to live for?”

He didn’t even know, really, where all of this was coming from; he was lashing out now, and the fact that Elijah refused to take the bait wasn’t helping him to calm down. He ran one hand through his hair and glanced briefly around the room. Billy looked ready to bolt. Dominic looked ready to intervene. And whatever Sean was about to say would undoubtedly only make it worse.

“No, you don’t understand,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando could hear the strangled tension in his voice. “But you will. This time next year you’ll be doing exactly the same thing. Wait and see.”

If Orlando had been holding something, he would have thrown it, would have shattered it against the wall just to surprise Elijah into showing emotion. “So you’re allowed to tell people, but I’m not?” he demanded.

“I know who I can trust.” The implication left hanging in the air was like a barb ripping through his flesh.

“And I don’t?”

“You don’t have anything to lose!” Elijah yelled.

Absolute silence. Orlando’s jaw worked, but nothing came out. Finally, he spun on his heel and walked out. The costuming people could go to hell, he’d deal with them later. The door slammed behind him. Elijah’s voice didn’t call him back.

He paused by a tree, wherever his angry, undirected strides had taken him, and lit a cigarette. The nicotine wasn’t much of a salve for his nerves or the pounding in his head, but it was the best he could do. He took a deep drag and stuck the lighter in his pocket, blew the smoke out and headed towards the parking lot.

Took a moment to wonder why – if Elijah was the one who didn’t want this – Orlando was always the one walking away.

* * *

Orlando had nearly twenty minutes to agonize over the mess he’d made before someone knocked on his door.

He wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly, thump of wood against the background patter of a sudden rain shower, but he answered it anyway.

“You’re wet,” he stated, in lieu of anything else to say.

“It’s raining,” Elijah pointed out. Dark hair plastered against his face, curling into commas and question marks. The rain beaded on his jacket, perfect crystal drops.

Well, that hadn’t gotten them very far. He opened the door wider, stood to the side. “You’d better come in.”

“Do you want me to?” Elijah challenged, but the fire-ice was gone from his eyes.

Almost, Orlando wished for it to return.

“I can make tea,” Orlando offered. “Or coffee. We could go out, if you wanted.”

“This is fine,” Elijah replied, smile flickering as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it by the door to slouch shapelessly. “Café de Bloom.”

Orlando shook the kettle to make sure that there was enough water in it for two cups and set it on the smallest burner. He was acutely aware of Elijah watching him, but didn’t return the honesty of a gaze. The black in Elijah’s eyes could swallow him whole, and then he would never be free again.

Measuring out coffee grounds had a certain calming influence. He scooped in precise amounts, mixing a special blend that he usually only made for himself. But this was Elijah, and that was almost the same thing.  
  
The cups clinked together when he pushed them across the counter, and the noise almost drowned out his sigh. “Why don’t you ever go away?” he asked no one in particular.  
  
“Why do you always push me?” Elijah returned softly.

“I don’t…” Orlando began, but when he turned he found himself in Elijah’s arms, with cool rain-kissed lips against his.

“Yes,” Elijah whispered, “You do.”

“Elijah,” Orlando murmured, like a blessing; felt Elijah’s body press against his in response.

“Stop fighting me,” Elijah ordered. His tongue traced Orlando’s lips, the angle of his jaw. Orlando moaned, fingers tightening their hold on the counter and Elijah’s hipbone.

“This is never going to work,” Orlando pleaded softly, half-convinced of the contrary by the way Elijah’s hips moved against his; tiny circles with hints of pressure where their groins met.

“Give it time,” Elijah soothed. His body rocked forward and up; Orlando’s fingers scrabbled against the Formica. “We’ll make it work.”

“Elijah,” Orlando breathed again, and this time it was a prayer.

“Yes.” Another slow roll of hips, material scraping.

“Elijah, I…”

“Shhh.”

* * *

_He’s watched Elijah sleep a thousand different times, in a thousand different places. It’s different now, though…and yet the same at the same time. Elijah is guarded even in sleep. He talks sometimes, shockingly loud in the absolute stillness of a townhouse at two or three am, but he never gives anything away. He keeps his secrets._

_One day, Orlando will probably stop listening._


End file.
